


i'm stuck in the dark (but you're my flashlight)

by thatiranianphantom (FrraFee)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa fluff the fluff for Clexa the fluff chosen specifically for Clexa Clexa's fluff, F/F, it's just fluff fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrraFee/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: So there was still strife. Still pain.But then Lexa would pull her into a quiet corner of her tower and kiss her fiercely, and things would seem just a little brighter, a little more manageable.  (Three weeks after Lexa is shot, a handmaiden timidly asks her if she could move a guest into Clarke’s room, since Wanheda had not occupied it for many days)And Polis seemed like its own little world, closed off from any and all threats that infringed on their happiness.





	

**Author's Note:**

> FLUFF. JUST FLAT OUT SELF INDULGENT FLUFF. 
> 
> I am really an angst-writer by trade, and am thus quite unpracticed in the ways of fluff, but I really thought after the last few weeks, we all just needed some fluff. So, here is my attempt at Clexa fluff. Also I’ve messed the timeline all up so Lincoln is alive and the words beyond the barricade here appear here and I’ll have you know I refrained from the Les Mis reference. 
> 
> It wasn’t easy, fam.

**I got all I need when I got you and I**   
**I look around me, and see sweet life**   
**I'm stuck in the dark but you're my flashlight**   
**You're gettin’ me, gettin’ me through the night**

 

 

After Lexa was shot, Clarke froze.

 

Just froze, and stared at the blood pouring from her shirt.

 

She’s told that she punched Titus “so hard you practically knocked the tattoos off his head” and that he was arrested after, but the memory is fuzzy.

 

As is, blessedly, Lexa’s gasps of pain, her hand searching for Clarke’s over the furs, how her fingers were cold and pale.

 

And Clarke supposes someone else fetched the horses and Lincoln, and hoisted Clarke up on the fastest one, with Lexa flopped against her, grunting with pain.

 

But that ride, that ride she remembers vividly. Holding Lexa to her, trying to stem the flow of blood, tripping over to her mother with Lexa in Lincoln’s arms and begging her mother to save her, _save her_.

 

She doesn’t remember much else until green eyes fluttered open and a pale hand squeezed hers.

 

Her heart lurched back to life, and since then, Lexa hasn’t been out of her sight for more than a day.

 

Lexa had recovered for two days, and that two days was a fight at every juncture to get her to stay in bed, rest and heal.

 

She had really only acquiesced when Clarke had damn near broken down in tears and reminded her that something had literally _ripped_ through her body and she had nearly died and they had _just_ started something different, something real.

 

But life continued spinning, no matter how much Clarke wished they could jump off. Pike couldn’t know Lexa was in Arkadia, which meant Lexa couldn’t stay. Lexa had to ride back to Polis, beyond the barricade.

 

They had gotten an hour ( _another hour to say goodbye_ ) on that last day, and Clarke had spent all of it with her forehead pressed against Lexa’s, pressing light kisses into her skin and never breaking contact, not for a moment.

 

Clarke had breathed a “may we meet again” into Lexa’s skin, followed by a bruising kiss. It wasn’t a goodbye, Clarke would make sure of it. It was a promise.

 

But their time had come, and they were still leaders, as they always would be. So with one final kiss, one final exhalation of _Clarke_ , Lexa had gotten on her horse and rode back to Polis, and Clarke remained in Arkadia.

 

And, perhaps most disappointingly, Pike remained alive, and stewing in as much hatred of grounders as ever.

 

He was the worst kind of leader. He saw the world in entirely black and white. If there was one thing Clarke had learned in her time on the ground, _people_ weren’t just one thing. Just good or bad. Just right or wrong. Pike couldn’t see that, and could neither see nor admit fault in himself.

 

* * *

* * *

 

Clarke had lasted a week, to make sure her people wouldn’t make any sudden moves, to make sure that another massacre would not be forthcoming, before the Lexa-sized hole in her chest grew too big, and her frustration with how little was likely to change. She rode to Polis, with strict orders to her mother and Kane to get her _immediately_ if there was any indication of another resistance brewing.

 

Lexa had not been informed of her presence, but Indra led Clarke up to the throne room with a smidge less than her usual amount of disdain.

 

Lexa’s eyes had lit up and really, that was all the indication Clarke needed to know she’d made the right decision.

 

“Leave us,” had been growled as Lexa waved her hands to dismiss everyone, a fierce glare shot at any who hesitated.

 

And the second they were alone, Clarke had found herself yanked into the commander’s arms, lips finding each others’ immediately.

 

“You know, you could patent that hand thing.”

 

“ _Shop of_ , Clarke.”

 

* * *

 

It has been as blissful as it possibly could be. Clarke still acted as Skaikru’s administrator, though relations were still tense even months after the massacre.

 

Some, including Octavia, however, had sided with Trikru. In fact, Octavia was now more Trikru than Skaikru. She stood by Indra’s side, refused to speak with any Skaikru, and lashed out at the mere mention of Bellamy.

 

Two weeks into her time in Polis, Clarke had received word from Abby. Pike had been dethroned as Chancellor, Kane taking his place.

 

Clarke nearly fainted with relief at the news, but Abby cautioned her that while Kane was the new Chancellor, a large faction was still loyal to Pike, and they were sending tampering the resistance as best they could, but they couldn’t guarantee another internal conflict wouldn’t happen.

 

Clarke had immediately asked if her mother would want her home. Abby had hesitated, but reminded her that her own people were not terribly fond of her right now. Besides, few would move against the Chancellor. They would send word if they needed her.

 

So there was still strife. Still pain.

 

But then Lexa would pull her into a quiet corner of her tower and kiss her fiercely, and things would seem just a little brighter, a little more manageable.

 

(Three weeks after Lexa is shot, a handmaiden timidly asks her if she could move a guest into Clarke’s room, since Wanheda had not occupied it for many days)

 

And Polis seemed like its own little world, closed off from any and all threats that infringed on their happiness.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lexa is practically humming with excitement when Clarke clears her to go hunting again.

 

(She cautions her no less than six times to be _extremely_ careful, earning an eye roll and a “I am not an experienced child, _hodnes_ ” from Lexa)

 

She comes back with three boars and a bear, and looks exceptionally proud of herself, until Clarke check her stitches and finds out that she has pulled two of them. She redoes them, and doesn’t try to hide the yank of the needle and thread as a kind of warning against pushing herself again.

 

* * *

 

Months pass, and things stabilize. Pike’s followers start dropping off little by little, until there is practically nobody left. Clarke is told that an election is forthcoming, and she worries, because they are her people.

 

But then, on that day, Lexa breezes into their room, and demands Clarke follow her.

 

Lexa grabs her hand, eyes sparkling, and honestly, Clarke would follow that look anywhere.

 

She leads Clarke to a spot in the woods, sits her on a rock with a stream gurgling beside it.

 

They have gone there before, often, to get away from the demands of Polis. One time, they had lain in the grass at night, and Clarke had pointed out constellations in the stars, baffling and fascinating Lexa.

 

“Star-pictures,” she had said. “You sky people have such strange pastimes.”

 

“That’s The Raccoon,” Clarke had said, ignoring her. “Scientific name _Lexa kom Trikru_.”

 

There was a pause. “You are teasing me, Clarke.”

 

“Maybe a little.”

 

“You have made up that Big Spoon picture as well, haven’t you?”

  
“No,” Clarke had laughed, throwing an arm around Lexa’s shoulders. “But that could be you too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Today, they come here, but Lexa does not rest. Nor, in fact, even sit down. She paces restlessly, hands in an out of her pockets.

 

“Lex, sit down,” Clarke says eventually. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Can’t. Must make it perfect.”

 

Clarke is ever more confused. “Make _what_ perfect?”

 

A shake of the head is all the answer she gets, before Lexa takes Clarke’s hands and pulls her to her feet.

 

“I have…had conversations with Octavia,” Lexa admits sheepishly. “I wanted to be prepared.”

 

“Prepared for what?”

 

Lexa doesn’t answer, but her fingers twist together in an expression that on anyone else would seem anxious.

 

The commander takes a deep breath, and the green of her eyes focuses on Clarke.

 

“I’m told it is tradition to kneel in doing this. And since it worked once, I thought it may be worth a second try” she says with a slight grin.

 

And then Lexa is kneeling at Clarke’s feet, and Clarke’s mind goes back to the first time.

 

_If you betray me again_

_I won’t._

_I swear fealty to you, Clarke kom Skaikru._

She never had betrayed her again.

 

And now she is kneeling in front of Clarke again, and presenting her with two items.

 

One is her knife, the one she always keeps on her, tucked behind her belt, close to her always. She had always noticed it, but never asked.

 

“Lex..this is your knife.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Yours, now. If…if you choose to accept it. And this.”

 

She holds up the second item, which is encased in a wooden box. Clarke opens it carefully, to find a metal bracelet. It is intricately carved with the very same designs Clarke recognizes from Lexa’s arm tattoos.

 

Something in the back of Clarke’s mind starts to come together. Why Lexa looks so hesitant.

 

The chosen items she is presenting Clarke with.

 

The secluded space.

 

She looks down at her girlfriend. The Commander, the almighty Heda of the thirteen clans, looks nervous. More than nervous, even. Her brow is furrowed in anticipation; her hands twist into each other rapidly.

 

“Lexa…what are you asking?”

 

“Clarke…I would understand if you say no. I just thought….”

 

Lexa grasps her hands. “ _Ai hod yu in.”_

The look in her eyes is searching, pleading. Like she’s using these words to say everything she feels.

 

And in the end, that’s when it hits Clarke.

“Wait are you….are you asking me to marry you?”

 

Lexa can only press out a hesitant “yes.”

 

It’s as if the air disappears. Clarke is stunned, struck silent. Lexa wants to marry her. Bonded, rather. Lexa is _asking_ to be bonded to Clarke, forever.

 

The woman she loves is asking to spend their lives together, and for that, there can be only one answer.

 

She uses her left hand to tug on Lexa’s and bring her to her feet. Slowly, she twines her arms around Lexa’s waist, one hand going up to cup her jaw.

 

“Yes,” she breathes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The aforementioned conversation with Octavia had been awkward, to say the least. There was really no way to ask your girlfriend’s best friend how to propose subtly, Lexa had learned.

 

And once Octavia had caught on, Lexa had found herself wrapped in a hug that was sufficiently awkward for both of them.

 

The Skaikru had many very odd traditions, it seemed. Something called a “bachelorette” party, in which you drank profuse amounts of mead and ogled naked males, a wedding “party” that included several “bride’s maids”, and a honey moon, which was apparently where you shirked your responsibilities for weeks on end.

 

Lexa had been endlessly frustrated with all of these rules, and Octavia seemed to sense it.

 

“Look, the most important part is the marriage. I think you can talk Clarke into that. Just take bits of both cultures, and you’ll be fine.”

 

“Do…do you think…” Her voice sounds high and weak, and Lexa hates it.

 

“Do you think she’ll say yes?

Octavia had scoffed.

 

“Yes, Heda, I’m fairly certain.”

 

The words had been a soothing balm of relief to Lexa, who released a deep breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

 

“Though, can I ask? Why do you want to marry Clarke?”

 

Lexa shifted a foot in the dirt, is silent for a long moment before taking a deep breath, enough for Octavia to groan “oh crap, I’m going to make you monologue now aren’t I?”

 

Lexa had fixed her with a glare before she speaks.

 

“Commanders aren’t supposed to think about the future. I was taught since I was a _yongon_ that my life is for my people.”

 

Lexa had looked at Octavia with a hard stare, tinged with sadness.

 

“We are not to think about the future, as it is not likely we will live that long. Commanders usually live but a few years after being called into power. Clarke…she still tells me that I talk about my own death more than anyone she knows. But for us, marriage, children, these are dreams. And not ones that are likely to happen.”

 

Lexa casted her gaze down, while Octavia marveled at the ruthless commander looking nervous. Like a normal person.

 

“But Clarke…Clarke makes me want my future. A future for _me_ , for us. She makes me want forever. Even if we do not get it…at least we have each other. We are bonded until death, whenever that may come.

 

Octavia stares at Lexa.

  
“Wow, Commander. Underneath all that badass, you really are just a softie, aren’t you?”

  
Lexa looks at her, confused.

 

“Softie?”

 

“Yeah, it’s….nevermind. Point is, Clarke’s a lucky girl. Now, want to review the basics again?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Abigail kom Skaikru is somewhat resistant of their union.

 

They have ridden to Arkadia to collect her for their union, a task that may have seemed simple, but as with many things Skaikru related, is proving more difficult than planned.

 

“You are eighteen years old, Clarke. Too young to make such a huge commitment.”

 

“Don’t talk to me like a child, Mom. I haven’t been a child in a long time.”

 

“That’s true, but this is serious. This is a lifelong commitment, not just to Lexa, but to this life.”

 

“Mom, do you really think I haven’t considered that? But Lexa and I are leaders. We will always be leaders. But with this, we will spend our lives doing it together. And this could be such a good thing for our people, Mom. A lifelong tie to the grounders.”

 

“Clarke,” Abby’s voice is strained and exhausted from where Lexa is eavesdropping through the tent wall. “I can’t support this. This is too big, too fast. This is your first real relationship. Please, just give it some time.”

 

Clarke’s voice pauses for a moment, then comes softly. “I don’t want time, Mom. I love Lexa. I will always love Lexa. I want to be bonded to her. And…I want you there.”

 

There is a long pause, before: “I can’t.”

 

And then Abby is tearing out of the tent. She is gone for precisely twenty seconds before Lexa races in, gathering a teary Clarke in her arms.

 

“She will come around, _hodnes._ She will change her mind. I know it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Which is how Lexa kom Trikru, the great Commander of the 13 clans, finds herself in a medical bay, functionally kidnapping Abigail kom Skaikru and dragging her into her own tent.

 

For Clarke.

 

Always for Clarke.

 

They sit in silence for long moments before Lexa speaks.

 

“Sometimes I find myself…jealous of your people, Abigail kom Skaikru.”

 

Abby stares, her expression guarded.

 

“You are the Commander. You have more power than anyone.”

 

Lexa nods and stares at the ground with a rueful smile on her face.

 

“ _Sha_. I have power. But that power comes at a price. I was taught since I was a _yongon_ that to be Commander is to be alone. And that is the way I have always lived.”

 

Abby’s shoulders relax minutely. Lexa takes that as a good sign. Not exactly open communication, but something.

  
“I carry the lives of thousands on my shoulders, Abigail kom Skaikru. That will not change until I die. My life will never be my own. I can never choose to simply take a break from being Commander. I can never think about my own life over that of my people. And that…that is a fundamental difference between our people. You choose to lead. Clarke chooses to lead. You do not have to. Other may take over in your stead. Not I. There is nobody else.”

 

“Your generals…”

 

“They are not me. My people will accept leadership from their Commander, and nobody else, quite unlike your people. And those decisions, the choices I make, the lives I take and the lives I save, I alone am responsible for those.”

 

“As are we, Commander.”

 

Lexa shakes her head.

 

“Your errors, many as they are, are always forgiven. Your power is not doubted. Your life is not in danger. With me, it is not the same. If I were to put my people in unnecessary danger, cause needless deaths, I would be removed from power and put to death.”

 

Abby nods. “And you are asking for my pity, Commander.”

 

“I am not looking for pity. I am simply saying…oftentimes I wish I had what you had. But you have given me Clarke. That is a gift that I find…invaluable.”

 

Abby tenses at the mention of Clarke. Lexa stands and ambles her way over, so that she is standing in front of Abby, in a posture she hopes is only vaguely threatening.

 

“We do not need your permission to marry. But I think you should come. It would mean a great deal to Clarke. She doesn’t say anything, but it hurts her that her father will not be there.”

 

Abby casts her eyes down and does not answer. Perhaps Lexa had hoped that was all it would take, but the woman is as stubborn as her daughter.

 

“This is not about me, Abigail kom Skaikru, I recognize that you do not trust me. But we have one thing in common. We both care for Clarke above all others. This is not about me. This is about her. I have vowed to care for her all of my days. This is a promise I intend to keep. I have vowed to protect her from hurt. And your refusal is hurting her.”

 

With a sigh, Lexa takes her knife into her hands and strides for the door.

 

“I am not commanding you to be there. But for Clarke…I hope you will come.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, they ride back to Polis.

 

And without saying a word, Abigail kom Skaikru strides up to them, a bag already packed, and mounts a horse.

 

Clarke’s eyes well with tears.

 

Her expression, Lexa decides, is worth everything that had to be done to get Abby here.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Their wedding was to be held in the woods, which was the subject of no small amount of mockery from Clarke, until Lexa shut her down with a “you would prefer on an abandoned space ship?”)

 

Clarke had assigned seventeen guards to surround Arkadia in case Pike got any ideas, arming them all with radios in case backup was needed, and the event was kept mum from Arkadia’s higher ups.

 

Indra had grabbed a radio as well and proclaimed she would ensure Heda’s wedding was not disturbed, that she would wait in Polis and be poised to attack at a moment’s notice.

 

She seemed entirely comfortable with this, so when Clarke had informed her that she was to come to the wedding and leave the “generaling” to another, she actually looked mildly horrified.

 

“You wish…for me to guard your wedding?”

 

Clarke had groaned. “What is it with you guys and everything always being about a fight? No, we don’t want you to _guard_ our wedding. We want you to _attend_ our wedding.”

 

It had been a fight from then on to convince her, but Indra had finally relented, after making both of them promise she would not be forced to be “a maid of the bride”.

 

She walked away with her usual scowl, but Clarke caught the glint of emotion in her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

The day of the wedding dawned with sunny skies, a calm breeze, and Clarke freaking out.

 

“ _Married_. I mean, why did nobody tell me? Just drop in and say ‘Hey Clarke, you’re getting married.’ Married. As in forever. I’m freaking marrying the Grounder Commander. And nobody _told_ me.”

 

Beside her sit Raven and Octavia, looking exceptionally done with this whole conversation.

 

“I thought the whole proposal might have tipped you off,” sighs Raven, but her words fall on deaf ears.

 

“And then there’s the guards and the flowers and the whole tattoo thing, and I’m getting _married._ Like, today. Married. To Lexa.”

 

“You love Lexa,” Octavia offers.

 

Clarke looks at her like she has grown an extra head. “That’s beside the point, Octavia. This is serious.

 

“Clarke,” Raven groans. “You’re freaking out.”

 

“I am _one hundred percent calm,_ Raven.”

 

“You know when someone sounds calm, when that someone hisses that they are calm. With spit.” Raven fires back as she wipes her face.

 

Clarke glares at her.

 

“I can’t believe you never told me.”

 

“Tragic oversight. So sorry. Now, let’s look at you.”

 

Raven steps back and admires Clarke. She’s dressed a soft white dress, her hair braided intricately (the work of a handmaiden Lexa had sent. Apparently bonding braids were important). Her cheeks glow pink with health and happiness.

 

“You look great, Griffin. Lexa’s not gonna know what hit her.”

 

Clarke manages a wobbly smile. “I’m getting married today, Raven.”

 

Raven smiles at her friend and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

 

“Yes, you are. Look where we are, Clarke. Whoever thought when we crashed to the ground that this would be where we’d end up?”

 

* * *

 

They freeze when they see each other.

 

Blue does not leave green the entire time.

 

The tattoo artist does exacting work, and strange as it sounds, Clarke doesn’t mind the pain.

 

When both are finished, she pulls Lexa into her arms and kisses her without waiting for permission.

 

As their lips detatch, her wife’s finger traces the outline of the new tattoo.

 

“ _Otaim_ ,” she whispers. “Always.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Parties had never been Lexa’s thing, but Clarke had insisted.

 

Mead flowed freely, music beat, and she found herself lost in this place, this day, this woman.

 

_Houmon._

Her wife.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke had finally dragged Lexa out onto the dance floor, and she and the Commander were locked into an embrace, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed as they gently swayed.

 

“That’ll be us next,” Bryan whispered to Miller.

 

Miller’s head snapped over to his boyfriend in shock.

 

“You askin’?”

 

Bryan let out a chuckle.

 

“Don’t have a ring. Or a knife, or a tattoo gun for that matter, but…yeah. You in?”

 

Miller laughed, pressing his lips to Bryan’s.

 

“That’s officially the least romantic proposal ever. I’m in.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“They’re so happy.” Monty sighed, eyes on the couple in the center of the dance floor.

 

“I know,” Raven agreed. “So happy for them. They earned this, after all they’ve been through. ”

 

Monty hummed in agreement. “So happy. Like, 100% happy for them.”

Raven nodded in agreement, before silence permeated for a few moments.

 

“Well,” Monty broke in hesitantly. “Maybe like 95% happy, and maybe 5% jealous. But that’s only 5%, right? That’s practically nothing.”

 

“Almost nothing,” Raven agreed.

 

A few more moments of silence ran before Raven admitted, “I’m probably like 85% happy for them and only like 15% jealous. But, I mean, that’s like vast majority of happy. Fifteen tiny percent practically doesn’t count.”

 

“More like 70/30.”

 

“Sixty-five/forty five.”

 

“Fifty-fifty, but only on bad days.”

 

“We’re gonna find someone.”

 

“Absolutely. Right around the corner.”

 

(They plaster smiles on their faces when they see the couple next, smiles they hope look genuine, until Clarke comments that they look absolutely plastic and insane, and Lexa asks them if they have eaten bad food.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

As the night draws to a close, Lexa pulls Clarke away from the celebration, and into their room.

 

(Their room, _theirs._ )

 

Clarke lets out a little giggle as Lexa pins her to the bed, attacking Clarke’s neck with her lips.

 

“We’re married,” she sighs with happiness.

 

“This is odd to you?” Lexa grins.

 

Clarke shakes her head. “It’s just…I fell out of the sky, we’ve started and ended so many wars, we both have so much many people relying on us, so much to do with our lives that marriage…marriage just seems a little normal for us.”

 

Lexa shakes with a laugh. “Indeed, _niron._ But here we are.”

 

“Here we are.” Clarke cups Lexa’s face in her hands, her eyes shining.

 

“So what comes next?” she whispers.

 

Lexa smiles, leaning down to press the softest of kisses to Clarke’s cheek.

 

“Forever,” she whispers.

**With shortness of breath, I'll explain the infinite** **  
How rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist.**


End file.
